Texting Doctor Watson
by likeateddybear
Summary: This fic contains happy-go-lucky!John, John/Sarah somewhat smutty scenes, dangerous scenes with John drinking tea, John/John smutty scenes, John/Sherlock straight out and long smut scene, and, finally, ends with fluffyness. Enjoy!


John had no problem owning a phone. He found it useful. He could get in contact with people when he needed to. He could call Sarah and set up a date night, he could call Harry (though, that's not something he did often at all), he could even call for take-out.

Tonight, he wanted to chuck the phone off a building. It started off as a lovely day. He actually had a nice day at work. Sure, there were a lot of patients, but they were all very agreeable and polite. He chatted happily with Sarah on their lunch break and asked her out to dinner that night. She accepted and when he got home, he walked to the door with a little skip in his step.

Sherlock had noticed right away.

"Date with Sarah?" He was working on something that looked very dangerous.

"Yeah… Don't hurt yourself, Sherlock," John said warily as he watched on. Sherlock gave an absent nod of his head. John gave a small sigh while grinning and turned to leave.

"I made you some tea." John stopped walking and furrowed his eyebrows, smiling in disbelief. He looked back at Sherlock. He wasn't messing with the chemicals that were bubbling dangerously under his hands; he was making very direct eye contact with John.

"You made me some tea?" Sherlock seemed to be trying to burn his eyes out with how fiercely he was looking at him.

"Yes, John," he said with mild annoyance at having to repeat himself, but barely moving his lips. John felt the sudden urge to laugh, but kept it in.

"Thank you, Sherlock," he said politely and walked back into the kitchen to drink his tea. Sherlock went back to his work.

How was it he had such a lucky day, you might ask? Everything was going perfectly, and he didn't doubt that the rest of the night would be perfect – maybe Sarah would even… But he wasn't going there. Not yet. No use getting his hopes up if she wasn't ready – he certainly wasn't going to push her into it. It wasn't as if they had gone on more than a few dates. They weren't officially together, as she pointed out every once in a while to John, the oh-so-patient man.

He thought about all of this as he sipped his tea, finishing it with a happy sigh and carefully cleaning the mug. He thanked Sherlock and went to shower before his date with Sarah.

And the date itself really went quite well. John took her out to dinner – a very nice place, though inexpensive; a rare find that he stumbled upon one night while he was out drinking with some friends. He had a good laugh and story swapping session with Sarah over their food and really couldn't remember the last time he had such a fantastic day.

On the ride home, they were certainly abusing their flirting rights. At the door, she invited him in. And that's when he got the first text. He ignored it. Sarah was more important. They laughed and talked over coffee and he received two more texts that he ignored.

At the seventh text, Sarah raised an eyebrow and John looked at her apologetically. She chuckled.

"You can look, you know. I'm not going to bite your head off." She took their mugs to the sink and he looked down at his phone.

_The milk is gone from the tea I made you. –SH_

_That means get some more milk, John. –SH_

_In case you were too preoccupied to figure that out. –SH_

_You may not want to enter your room when you arrive. –SH_

_On that note, you may want to hurry home. –SH_

_John? –SH_

_You know, it's rude to ignore texts. –SH_

John snorted at these and typed a hasty reply.

_**I'm not likely to be back tonight, Sherlock, go get your own milk and fix whatever you did to my room.**_

He put the phone back in his pocket and walked over to Sarah, sliding his arms around her waist from behind. She smiled and turned to face him. He leaned his forehead against hers for a second and then kissed her gently. She hesitated, and then kissed him back. It went from soft and patient to fast and needy. His movement inquired, and she took the hint and seemed to agree, as she led them to her bedroom. They attempted to kiss the whole way, knocking things over and not caring.

As they reached her room, John pressed her against the wall, kissing her hard and grinding against her. He suddenly got a text which he ignored, but he felt Sarah tense. He pulled her away from the wall and to her bed, where they fell, Sarah first and John on top, his hands in her hair and their lips and tongues tying together frantically.

His phone buzzed again.

He ignored it and felt Sarah tense again in annoyance.

It wasn't until Sarah had him on his back as she unbuttoned his pants teasingly slow that it finally got to her. Three more texts all right after the other. She glared at John and stopped. He grimaced.

"Here, look, I'll just turn it off." She gave a sigh and got off of him.

"I suppose I'll just freshen up a bit more, then, while I wait." She walked off to the other room and John shoved his hand angrily into his pocket.

_I realise you're very likely busy, but I have a medical question. –SH_

_It has a lot to do with the chemicals I've been working with. –SH_

_John, I think I have a problem – SH_

_John, I need your help. Please. –SH_

_I need you. I need a doctor. Please. It's an emergency. –SH_

John blinked in a mix of surprise, horror, and dread at the texts. He squeezed his eyes shut tight at what he had to do next. He explained to Sarah quickly that there was an emergency back home. She said she understood, but he saw something in her eyes that showed annoyance.

He grabbed a taxi as quickly as possible and made them hurry home. Even hurrying, however, the ride took a while. He couldn't help but let his mind wander to what Sarah had been doing. He hadn't calmed from it, he was still achingly hard. To his horror, this didn't change by the time he reached the flat. He supposed it was because it had really been that long since he'd been with someone.

He clenched his teeth, hoping it wasn't noticeable, and entered the flat in a hurry.

"Sherlock," he yelled out. The flat was dark. "Sherlock?"

"John…" He heard Sherlock's voice coming from his chair. The tone was odd, however. Soft, weak. John was immediately alarmed. He flipped the light on and Sherlock looked as if he was in deep thought. He looked completely unharmed. John stared at him for a moment, not wanting to jump to conclusions. Being patient. Always so patient.

"Erm… Sherlock? What's the emergency?" Sherlock looked up at John sharply, his eyes burning into him again. John looked alarmed.

"I put my hand in acid," Sherlock explained, indicating his right hand, which was quite red and irritated looking. "You took quite a while to get here, so I gave in and figured it out on my own."

"Figured… What out, exactly?"

"What would happen if someone's whole hand went into that type of acid for three seconds."

"You… wanted me to come by so you could have me stick my hand in acid?"

"Yes, John, but you took much too long."

"You said it was an emergency, Sherlock! You said you needed a doctor!"

"Ah, yes, well, that was after I put my hand in the acid. I was worried that I went too far by putting my hand in for four seconds, rather than three, as it burned quite a bit more than I expected. It turned out to be alright after I soaked it in the solution, however." John clenched his teeth.

"Right," he snapped angrily as he shoved his jacket off, and then continued while ignoring the look of very slight surprise on Sherlock's face. "I'll be going to take a shower, then."

He stomped up the stairs to the shower and nearly ripped the curtain off in his anger. Of course. This was obviously how it had to go. Everything about the day was perfect, of course it had to be ruined somehow. And of course it had to be Sherlock who ruined it. Of. Bloody. Course.

He turned the water on, but couldn't convince himself to turn it cold. He needed something calming so he wouldn't tear apart his flat mate when he got out. He sighed when the hot water hit him, muscles relaxing slightly. He looked down at himself; still achingly hard. He felt the disappointment at what could have been a great night ruined by something so idiotic. Next time, he'd be sure to call and ask what the problem was before rushing to Sherlock's aid.

He sighed slightly in obvious pleasure as his hand took a firm hold of his cock. He heard a noise and paused, listening carefully. It was the sound of a faucet going somewhere. John hoped momentarily that it meant Sherlock was making him more tea – and an apology.

He closed his eyes, imagining just where he might be if he had ignored the texts when, quite suddenly, the water flow was interrupted and he was pushed carefully but firmly against the shower wall. His eyes snapped open and he looked in time to see Sherlock, fully clothed but for his socks and shoes and getting soaked from the shower, fall to his knees and immediately wrap his mouth around John's cock. He gasped in shock and bit back a moan.

"Sh-Sherlock!" John bit back a gasp when Sherlock looked up at him without backing off, merely licking John's cock slowly. "What are you d-doing, sto-" his objections were cut off when Sherlock began sucking and pulling back, then sucking John in again. His hand went to Sherlock's head. His intention had been to pull Sherlock off by his hair, but he held his head and groaned quite loudly instead. When he realised what he did, his ears began to turn red.

But, well, he had already groaned. There was really no turning back, so he gave in somewhat enthusiastically. He couldn't control the thrust his hips gave as Sherlock began fondling him. The next thing he knew, Sherlock had a hold of his hips with both hands and they were slammed against the wall. John was gasping for breath as Sherlock looked up at him.

Sherlock sucked harder, working his tongue and doing very skillful things with his mouth. It was obviously good for much more than deducing. His eyes feasted on John's expression and his ears on the groans and very unenthusiastic murmurs of "What are…?" "Sherlock…" "Oh, god…"

Soon, the air was full of John's panting and groaning, moaning, muttering and whimpering Sherlock's name in an effort to – what? Tell him to stop? No, not anymore, as much as John wanted to believe that's what he wanted. Reassure him it was fine? John was sure he didn't have to do that. Maybe it just felt good – heightened things – to groan out Sherlock's name.

One thing it did do, however, was get to Sherlock. John watched as Sherlock's eyes closed with a groan around John's cock when John moaned his name rather loudly, fingers grabbing his hair a little tighter in his pleasure.

John's hand grabbed tighter as his body tensed up, as his abdomen felt red-hot with pleasure, and, quite suddenly, Sherlock let John slip out of his mouth and looked up at him, sitting back on his heels and letting John's hand slip out of his hair.

John was breathing heavily, nearly gasping, his pupils blown and face flushed with both pleasure and the heat of the shower. He looked down at Sherlock, mouth red and eyes dark. His clothes soaked tight against his skin and his hair plastered against his face and neck, but for the bit at the top that was sticking up at odd angles from where John was holding.

He looked simply perfect, but his eyes were questioning. The usual mask he wore was faded slightly from the pleasure, and John suddenly knew what had happened. He bent down close to Sherlock and pulled him in, kissing him clumsily. Sherlock didn't kiss back, but didn't look surprised or even curious when John pulled back. His expression was blank.

But he leaned forward and pulled John back into the kiss, and it wasn't a lust kiss. They kissed gently, as if they had been waiting their whole lives to do this. As if they couldn't mess this up now that they were finally doing it, even if John hadn't thought about it until this point. And when they pulled away, Sherlock pulled John up to a standing position with a small smile playing at his lips.

And soon, they were kissing more fiercely. Soon, they were ripping at Sherlock's clothes, dropping them with a plop to the shower floor. Soon, Sherlock was pressing John against the shower wall with his body and they were grinding against each other, cocks sliding together and making John groan into Sherlock's mouth, which made Sherlock shiver and thrust harder.

And it wasn't real sex, but it was sex enough for the both of them. It meant much more, without a real word spoken about it, than it would have meant if John had slept with Sarah at the end of their date.

They were grinding and grinding, and it felt amazing. The heat of their bodies, the shower, the friction. The sounds of their harsh breathing and John's moans overpowering the sound of the shower spray. The air cloudy with heat and their pupils so blown they looked black-eyed.

It was surprising how long they could keep at that. It took them a while before they realised. Sherlock came to the conclusion before John. He backed his hips away slightly and lined them up, grabbing both of their cocks at once and squeezing them together. John gasped and his hands went around Sherlock's.

They both watched as their hands pumped the two of them together. They watched until Sherlock felt John tensing up and groaning. They looked at each other, making eye-contact and making a sort of mental decision. John gritted his teeth and held out.

Sherlock pumped them together, and it was so difficult for John to stay as he was. He was gasping and nearly whimpering by the time Sherlock was unable to hold back his groans of pleasure, his eyes closing and his lips being bit together. His eyes opened with heat and they made eye-contact again.

Sherlock kissed John hard as he suddenly squeezed tight and pumped hard. Soon, however, the kiss turned into hard breathing into each other's mouth. Groans and breaths and maybe a small kiss or lick every so often.

And everything became hot and tight, everything was bright white all at once for John, and then Sherlock a fraction of a second after, as they both spilled, their hands pumping and working them through it.

They slowed down and eventually their hands stopped moving and let go. John slumped against the wall for support and Sherlock leaned against John for support. The air was full of their heavy breathing and their brains, for once, were completely clouded over with the amount of pleasure.

It took a couple of minutes before they were able to come to their senses. It may have been because the water was getting cooler, but they cleaned off in silence, Sherlock washing John carefully as John washed Sherlock, and they turned off the shower and got out.

They found themselves curled up together on John's bed, still not a word uttered. John suddenly remembered what Sherlock had said earlier in his text.

"Wait, Sherlock..." he looked around the room from where he was lying, "What was it you did to my room?"

Sherlock smiled a bit, as if remembering.

"Nothing, really. But I had to clean the sheets." Sherlock nearly winked at him by just the tone of his voice.

That's when John began to laugh. When he thought about that and how this was the first thing they said. It started off as a giggle. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows.

"What?" he asked, "What is it? Why are you laughing?"

And John laughed harder, wrapping his arm around Sherlock and leaning his forehead against his. Soon, Sherlock joined in and the room was filled with their gleeful laughter at nothing in particular. They fell asleep soon after, a sleepy giggle escaping their lips every so often until they crashed, one after the other.


End file.
